


Worlds Apart

by KCUrquhart



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, But not picture perfect ending, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Has Issues, Clint Needs a Hug, Depression, Happy Ending, M/M, No one ever said that Clint is good at dealing with guilt, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Suicidal Thoughts, because I stuggle at writing anything but angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 11:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1302664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KCUrquhart/pseuds/KCUrquhart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding out Coulson was dead didn't shatter Clint's world as much as he expected it to. Finding out that Coulson was still alive after all, however, did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worlds Apart

For some odd reason, when Natasha said those two words to him, Clint didn't feel as unmistakably lost as he expected to be. He felt pain and confusion and chaos. He felt like his whole world was sent into a tailspin. As if up was down and left was right. But there was still a center point. Still a point of refuge and clarity amidst the storm. The areas of normalcy scared him more than the pain.

For nearly three weeks things continued like that. Everything off center but somehow still managing to stay upright.

When he was called into a meeting with Fury and the rest of the Avengers, his heart was beating faster than it had in years. He knew something was wrong. Something was different from the last time he’d sat in that conference room and listened to Fury rattle on about one mission or another. And he was right. What was different was that he’d been told a lie. What was different was that Phil wasn’t quite as dead as the entire world had been led to believe.

As the team erupted into chaos, all demanding further details and explanations from Fury, Clint slipped out of the room. Part of him wanted to flee into the vent systems and scour Medical until he found Phil; needing that proof that it wasn’t all some fucked up dream. But that part was vastly overshadowed by the part of him that was screaming for him to run away. To run and hide and bury his head in the sand in shame until it was safe to come out again.

So that’s what he did.

The Avengers had all gathered together in Stark Tower, clustering in the few livable places that hadn’t been damaged during the battle. Everything was makeshift and slapped together in a hurry, yet still high end and advanced in the way that everything Stark touched always was. Clint’s room was more windows than floorspace. It looked out over the parts of the city that weren’t quite as damaged and if he tried really hard, he could almost pretend like the city was still whole and perfect and nothing had happened.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, nose pressed to the glass, doing just that when Nat found him.“Fury let us see him. He’s really alive, Clint. He’s in a coma and not breathing on his own yet, but his heart is still beating. He’s still here.” Her words cut through his calm and he had to close his eyes, focusing on simply making sure he remembered to breathe. “I can take you to him…”

“Not right now.” He forced the words through his throat even as it felt like it was closing. “Not now.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and Clint was hoping that she understood the words he couldn’t voice: ‘Not ever’.

~~~

That night all of Clint’s dreams were shades of blue and red. Ice and blood mixed in his veins and spilled out over his hands until he was drowning in it. Faces popped out of the liquid, staring at him with eyes devoid of the lives he had ended. They bobbed pale white against the deep red blood around them, like some twisted backwards version of apples bobbing in a tub of water.

He woke up drenched in sweat and reaching out instinctively for the person who was no longer there. The opposite side of the bed was empty and cold. It only served to make his arms start shaking and his stomach heave. He needed something, anything, to bring him back to the world of the living and remind him of all of the reasons that he had fought so hard to get where he was.

“Jarvis?” his voice cracked. He swallowed and tried again. “Jarvis, are you there?”

“Is there something I can do for you, Agent Barton?”

The voice was wrong; all metal and distant. Even if it was filled with actual concern, it wasn’t what he wanted. Clint ground his eyes shut and pushed back the thoughts about all of the reasons he couldn’t have what he wanted and focused on the one thing that he needed right now; a good night’s sleep. And there was only one thing that would get him that. “I’m assuming Tony connected you into the Shield database, right?”

“Director Fury proactively offered Mr. Stark access to cursory levels of the database to try and prevent him from digging further.”

“Just enough clearance to keep updated on Phil.” Clint ventured.

“Correct, sir.”

“Can you…” Clint swallowed, trying to feel a little less like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. “Can you give me an update? Please?”

“Of course, Agent Barton. Currently, Agent Coulson is in stable condition. He is unconscious and his breathing is being regulated. His pulse is constant. Blood oxygen levels are within the normal range. All signs are pointed towards a full, if lengthy recovery.”

Clint dropped his head into his hands as he listened to Jarvis rattle off the information. It was just data. Just stats and facts, no emotion at all. Like he was reading a patient’s chart rather than affirming that someone important was, in fact, still alive. It was exactly what Clint needed. Because it was truth. It was hard, cold, no frills attached truth. Phil was alive and his heart was beating, which somehow turned the wave of blood he was drowning in into something more like an endless wading pool. It was still there, stretching out as far as he could see in every direction, leaving no way to ever hope to escape it; he was still up to his knees in the blood but at least he could breath.

He settled back onto his bed, curling up onto his side and pulling the covers up over his shoulders. “Thank you, Jarvis.”

“My pleasure. Please let me know if you need anything else. Otherwise, good night, Agent Barton. Pleasant dreams.”

~~~

Clint made it a full week before the nightmares came back. It was in the top 5 for the longest week of his life. Around day three Nat had begun to take a keen interest in why Clint was still skulking around the Tower rather than haunting Coulson’s bedside in Medical. He’d managed to think up some sort of excuse each time she asked, though he was sure she never bought it. Thankfully she continued to let him make his lame excuses and didn’t knock him out and drag him down to Medical herself.

The morning after his nightmares came back it was Tony who started asking questions.

“I was checking the logs this morning and noticed a few hits on my server that I couldn’t account for. In the ‘I Can’t Believe Fury Gave Me Access, The Idiot’ server. Which is where all of the data about Agent’s status is being run through. Jarvis wouldn’t tell me _who_ accessed the files, something about it being ‘Personal’” Tony used air quotes. “But I did this nifty little thing called using my access codes, and I discovered something that I’m too me to ignore.”

Clint nodded dumbly from his seat at the kitchen table across from Tony. The others had all eaten by now and were scattered wherever it was they disappeared to. Clint had come upstairs hoping it was late enough that he would avoid them all. He’d forgotten about Tony’s tendency to keep whatever hours he felt like. “Going to keep rambling or will you share with the class?” Clint smirked, inwardly hoping that he hadn’t crossed some sort of boundary by using Jarvis for an update every night before he went to sleep.

“Think you’re funny there, don’t you Lego?”

“I think I’m damn hilarious.” Clint shot back.

Tony rolled his eyes and set down his coffee. “Fine. You want me to cut straight to the point? Here it is. Jarvis has a record of how many times each of us has inquired about Agent’s health. Some of us have a lot higher amounts than others. But only one really stands out for being different. Yours.” Tony pointed a finger accusingly at Clint who couldn’t help but flinch slightly.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He schooled his face into the most neutral expression he could manage.

“Don’t play stupid. Everyone else here has asked about Agent at least a dozen times a day. Cap even has it set up so that Jarvis gives him updates every half hour. And all of us have it so that Jarvis will alert us immediately if there is any change. So why is it that you only check once a day? I thought you, Agent, and Widow were like a triple threat team or something before our gang got together.”

Clint dropped his eyes to the table, thankful that years of training left him able to at least keep his face blank of the guilt that was threatening to swallow him whole. “I have my own way of doing things, Tony.” He pushed back his chair and stood up, grabbing his empty mug and crossing the room to place it in the sink. He nearly stumbled on the last step, his toe catching on the rug, and he was forced to catch himself against the edge of the counter. He closed his eyes, trying to steady himself despite the pair of eyes he could feel boring into his back.

“Barton - “

“Please don’t.” Clint spun around and met Tony’s gaze. There was a fire there that he hadn’t been expecting and it warmed his heart in a way he wasn’t willing to think about. “You really do care about him, don’t you?” The words slipped out before Clint could stop them.

Shock and anger flashed across Tony’s face. “Of course I care about him. I’ve known Coulson for years. We all care. He’s a good man.”

Clint couldn’t help the small smile. “Make sure Coulson doesn’t hear you say shit like that. I think his brain would short circuit from the idea of you saying nice things about him.”

Tony half-shrugged and nodded before sobering again. “You still haven’t answered me though. What’s the deal with you not worrying about Agent?”

Clint turned back to the sink, staring down at the pile of dirty dishes in it, his mug balanced on top. It was all built up in such a precarious tower, just one wrong touch away from crashing down. “I have my reasons. I promise you they’re valid. Let’s leave it at that.” He hurried out of the room before Tony could push the point further.

~~~

“Agent Barton.” Clint startled awake, eyes snapping open as he reached for the knife on his bedside table. His hand stopped halfway there as he registered the lack of anyone else in the room. “I’m sorry to wake you, Agent.” Jarvis continued, “But Mr. Stark insisted that I should inform you as to when Agent Coulson regained consciousness.”

‘Of course he did.’ Clint thought as he flopped back down onto the bed. Aloud he simply thanked Jarvis and told him, in slightly too rude of words, to leave him alone now. He counted out thirty seconds, hoping that by that point Jarvis would have truly gone away -however much Jarvis could go away- then he let the grief take over. The tears flowed freely, coming faster and harder until he was hiccoughing for breath. It was only a matter of time now. Only a matter of days at most until it became obvious to the rest of them that Clint was avoiding Coulson. He wasn’t sure how they would all react; if they would quietly accept it or try to interfere like Tony had. All he was certain of was that he couldn’t afford to let his resolve slip, no matter how much they all argued or begged or bargained. This was something he needed to do. No matter how hard it was; he couldn’t let himself go see Coulson.

~~~

When Clint woke up, the world was dark outside. He rolled over to see his clock shining out 4:52am in bright red numbers. He groaned and stretched out his muscles one by one. They’d cramped up during the night as he’d slept, curled up tightly into a ball to try and protect himself from the world. The moment his feet hit the floor dim lights turned on, shining just bright enough for him to make his way effortlessly around the room.

He went through his usual morning routine. Shower. Brush teeth. Comb hair. It wasn’t until he was standing in front of his dresser, still wrapped in a towel, that he remembered the middle of the night announcement from Jarvis. Phil had woken up.

It felt like someone had doused him with a bucket of ice water. His entire body ran cold as his mind whirled in a panic. It was already rationing and planning and setting up escape routes for every possibility. It was only once he was sure that he’d thought up every possible outcome, and had made a contingency plan for it, that Clint dared to asked Jarvis, “Could I get the latest update on Agent Coulson’s status please?”

The AI responded instantly. “Agent Coulson is currently sleeping. He was fully conscious for a period of 31 minutes earlier this morning. During that time he inquired as to the outcome of the events with Loki. Specifically asking as to whether or not you were still under his control. His relief at being told you were back to your normal self was quite evident. If you would like, I could show you the video feed from the encounter.”

Clint shuddered. “No thank you, Jarvis.”

“Two more quick things, if I may, Agent Barton.”

Clint couldn’t bring himself to do more than nod.

“Firstly, Captain Rogers asked me to inform you that he and the others would be going to visit Agent Coulson at 0900. He insisted that you should join them.”

‘Yeah, that’s not happening.’ Clint thought, telling Jarvis as much.

“I shall let him know.” Clint could feel Jarvis’ judgment radiating through his circuits. It was weird to think that even this computer was probably friends with Coulson. “The second thing. Agent Romanov has currently stationed herself at Agent Coulson’s bedside. She was the one who explained the events of the Battle of New York to him. She wished for me to let you know that Coulson’s first words upon waking were, and I quote, ‘Where’s Clint?’”

The ground was falling out from under him. That had to be it. The floor had to be physically falling away, dropping him out of the Tower. There was no other explanation for the way his stomach flipped or why he suddenly felt weightless. But the floor was still there. He knew because he was clinging to it for dear life. He could feel the carpet scratching against his knees and saw his hands fisted into it. As if if he held it tight enough then he could hold the rest of his world together.

“Is there anything you would like me to say to her in return?” And Clint had been right. There was definitely anger and hatred in that voice. There was thinly veiled accusations that reminded Clint that Jarvis was more than just another of Tony’s inventions. It made his heart ache with the want to simply comply with what so many people were asking of him. Even as the thought of consideration crossed his mind another memory flitted past that blocked it off completely.

His stomach began to heave. He crumpled face first against the floor, arms no longer able to hold himself up. It was too much. It had to be too much. There was no way that he could feel himself being torn in two and attacked from all sides and still manage to hold himself together.

Yet when a voice called out through the chaos, Clint managed to find one last tiny untarnished piece of himself he could cling to. It was a single string, flimsy and frayed, but it was strong enough for him to tie it around the memories, locking them away. “Tell Nat to mind her own business.” His throat felt scratched and raw. “And Jarvis, enough with the updates.”

He didn’t bother listening to Jarvis’ snarky reply. He already had a plan in place. One that he hoped would let him make it back to some semblance of his old life. It was a shit plan and he hated every part of it. Even as he set about putting it in motion he had to repeat a mantra inside his head, reminding himself of the difference between want and need. That things like love and friends and teammates were things he’d survived without before and he could do it again.

~~~

They came to visit him in turns, Cap then Tony then Bruce. All of them showed up at Clint’s door in the Shield barracks with hundreds of questions for him. He couldn’t give a straight answer to any of them.

~ 

“Barton, did we do something wrong?” Cap had asked. He’d looked so at-ease within the militaristic furnishings. All the room held was a standard issue bed, dresser, and Clint’s still-filled duffel bag. He supposed that to Cap it must have almost seemed like home.

“You guys didn’t do anything, Cap. I’m just not really a team person. I need my space.”

Cap nodded. “I understand. But I can’t say that I don’t wish things were different.”

~

Tony had started yelling the second Clint had opened the door. “You stupid son of a bitch. First you don’t give a shit about Coulson. Now you move out of the Tower without telling anyone. You can’t just quit the Avengers, Barton. We’re a team. We’re new, granted, and shaky at best. But that why we need stability. Not people disappearing on us while we’re all at the damn hospital checking up on the man who gave his life to make our team a reality.”

Clint had slammed the door in his face. Not that that had deterred Tony in the slightest. He stood outside and shouted for another twenty minutes before finally calling Clint a selfish ass and storming away.

~

Clint had been genuinely shocked by Bruce showing up. Cap and Stark he’d expected, but he and Bruce had barely said five words to each other in the few weeks that they’d lived in the Tower. There had just always been something slightly off-putting about the man that Clint couldn’t put his finger on, but it kept them at a distance all the same.

So seeing him sitting on the edge of Clint’s bed, hands wringing the hem of his shirt, was enough to throw Clint off balance to the point of near-honesty.

“I told Cap earlier, it doesn’t have anything to do with you guys. This is about me and my needs and certain things that I can’t handle right now.”

Bruce smiled softly. “That’s fine. I’m simply saying, I think you should at least talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be any of us. I know for a fact that Shield has a Psych department. Go talk to one of them. Or find a random shrink in the city and give them a false name. Hell, go find someone in a bar and spill your guts to them. Just talk to someone. Because it’s obvious that there is something truly wrong, and we’re all worried about you.”

“None of those are really viable options at the moment, sorry Doc.” Clint played with the loose knob on his dresser, spinning it back and forth between his fingers as he tried to look relaxed leaning up against it. “But thanks for coming anyway. It means a lot even if we aren’t really friends.”

“What?” Bruce’s head had snapped around, his face sharpening with the level of laser focus that he usually only got while science-ing with Tony. “I know we don’t talk much, but that doesn’t mean I don’t count you as one of my friends, Clint.”

It took all of his might not to roll his eyes. “That’s a nice thing to say, but it’s unnecessary. I don’t mind that we aren’t all chatty-cathy with each other.”

Bruce sighed. “I get the feeling that you aren’t really chatty with anyone. Even when you’re around Nat you hardly say a word.” He stood up and opened the door. Nodding once towards Clint as a farewell, Bruce left. Clint could just make out the words he mumbled to himself as he pulled the door shut. “Probably why he doesn’t care about Coulson either.”

~~~

Wind buffeted Clint as the helicopter’s propellor blades spun to life. He smiled at the feel of it. The familiar weight of his weapons bag slung across his back and the shift of his field suit with each movement. It was comforting to be back on a mission with a job to do.

Sitwell strode up behind him, his footsteps nearly silent over the thwump-thwump of the helicopter. “You sure you’re ready for this, Barton?” He stopped beside Clint, perfectly level. Clint took a half step back, consciously placing himself as Sitwell’s subordinate.

“I wouldn’t have asked for a mission if I wasn’t ready, Sir.” Out of the corner of his eye Clint could see Sitwell’s eyebrows go up. The term of respect was rare for Clint to use even towards Fury and Coulson. “It’ll be good to get back to what I was trained for.”

Sitwell nodded. Dozens of agents scurried forward, piling the necessary equipment onto the helicopter. The two watched them in silence for a few minutes. When the work was done they climbed aboard. Clint stowed his gear and settled into his seat. Sitwell sat beside him, shifting constantly with a nervous energy that Clint could feel radiating off of him. It was bothersome and distracting. Not at all like the calm and composure that Clint had gotten from his old handler. “You okay there, Barton?” Sitwell asked, noticing Clint’s grimace.

“Fine. It’s just all gonna take some getting used to.” Sitwell smiled and let the subject drop.

By the time they’d wrapped up all of the mission’s loose ends, including the one target who had holed himself up in a bunker for three days before they had managed to blast through the cement walls, they had been in the field for nearly two weeks and Clint felt more at ease than he had since before New York. Even with the wrong voice in his ear, his mind could go blissfully blank as he stared down the sight of his scope.

When they got back to HQ, Clint went straight from debrief to his bunk, making sure to wear headphones with the music blasting so that he couldn’t overhear any gossip or conversations in the halls. He traversed the route more from memory than sight, letting his eyes drift shut every so often as he lost himself in the music. In his room, he switched the sound over to the speakers, fiddling with the controls of his stereo so that the bass thumped through the room before collapsing face first onto his bed.

The touch of a hand on his shoulder startled him. Flailing, he flipping sideways off of the bed and landed in a heap on the floor. The sound of Nat’s laughter filled the room as she shut off his music and sat down on the ground next to him. He tried to glare at her but the happiness in her eyes was infectious and he ended up busting out laughing as well until they were sprawled out together, limbs tangled and eyes watering, clutching their sides to try and even out their breaths.

“Don’t ever do that again.” Clint gasped.

“It’s only fair punishment for you being stupid enough to forget to lock your door.”

They fell silent, neither moving to untangle themselves or pull away. Clint could feel the rise and fall of Nat’s chest where she laid across his arm. “I missed you.”

She turned to smile at him. “Of course you did. I’m me.” He huffed and yanked his arm out from under her, letting her flop down against the floor. She glared at him. “And here I was about to say that I missed you too.”

He sighed and rolled over onto his side to face her. “I know why you’re here, Nat.”

She shook her head. “No, you don’t. You think you do, but you’re wrong. I’m here because you,” she poked him in the forehead, “just went on a mission and I know from experience that you tend not to report any injuries.”

Clint rolled his eyes but didn’t disagree. Instead, he pulled up the hem of his shirt to show her the small gash in his side that he’d hastily stitched together. “It was just a tiny piece of shrapnel when we blew the bunker yesterday.” He raised his voice as she walked towards the bathroom, returning a minute later with the first aid kit. Clint pulled his shirt the rest of the way off and settled onto the edge of the bed. Nat worked in silence, cleaning the wound and replacing Clint’s uneven stitches with a neat row.

“You could try and go one mission without hurting yourself, you know.” She snapped as she stood up to put the first aid kit back.

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Why bother when I have such a friendly face to sew me back together.”

She smacked him upside the head. “I’m not always going to be here. Not if you insist on only being a Shield agent rather than an Avenger too. They’ll be far too many times when we’re off on ops without each other. And as tolerable as the rest of the team can be, I would prefer to have someone I trust watching my back.”

Clint dropped his head, his chest tight with the guilt. If anyone should be able to understand why he was doing what he was doing, it was her. “Sorry, Nat. Maybe someday I’ll come back, but for right now, this is what I need.”

“I know.” She smacked him again.

“Hey! What was that for?” He rubbed at the back of his head.

“Because if I didn’t know that, do you really think I’d have let you move out of the Tower in the first place. I may not understand everything that’s going on in your silly little head, but I trust you to know what you’re doing. Though lord knows why.”

She chuckled and he smiled up at her. “Thank you.”

Leaning over, she gave him a small kiss on the cheek. Whispering into his ear, “Even if I’m halfway across the world, if you need me here, I’ll come.”

~~~

Things continued in a strange new type of normal. Clint kept going off on missions with Sitwell as his handler. Some were solo ops and for others he was paired up with various teams. Most of the time the other agents ignored him. A few times he would catch them whispering behind his back. To his credit, Sitwell told them off if he ever caught them.

When he was between missions, Clint kept to himself. He would spend all of his free time bouncing back and forth between practicing in the range and working out. The hushed rumors followed him wherever he went. People would duck out of the sight the moment he showed up. Or would stare at him as he passed in the hall, muttering behind their hands to whoever happened to be close by. At this point, Clint wasn’t even sure what the rumors about him were anymore. Whether they were more about his attack on the Helicarrier or about his leaving the Avengers or him avoiding Coulson. All he did know was that he really didn’t want to know.

The nights were the hardest part. Clint tended to toss and turn when he slept and the narrow Shield-issued bed was too small to accommodate his flailing. Even when he could manage to fall asleep, nightmares plagued him. The worst was the recurring dream of dead faces bobbing around him in a sea of blood. He recognized most of the faces, by sight if not by name. So many of them had once been his fellow agents, taken down by a plan he’d helped orchestrate. They would float up to the surface, one by one, their white faces slowly becoming clearer through the crimson water. Clint’s own screams always managed to shock himself awake before the final face came up through the water.

Since he couldn’t comfort himself any longer with updates on Phil’s status using Jarvis, Clint had found another method to calm himself down. He would climb up into the air vents and settle down in his usual nest. It wasn’t directly above Coulson’s office, like Nat had always teased, but was a few dozen feet down from it, at a T joint. It had given Coulson privacy while still allowing Clint to hear the sound of Phil’s typing echo through the ducts.

So on those long nights when Clint couldn’t blink without seeing the faces of the dead, he would make the quick trek through the vents and wrap himself up in the blanket that he kept at his nest. It was a worn-thin old thing that Clint had snagged from the back of a closet in Phil’s apartment. It still smelled faintly of Phil’s cologne and the special foreign dryer sheets that Phil insisted made everything ten times softer.

Clint was ashamed to admit that he spent more nights in the vents than he did in his room. But as he curled into his nest one night a few months later, it felt like the gaping hole in his life wasn’t quite so sharp. He buried his nose into the fabric, sniffing deeply. Instantly he felt his muscles start to relax and his mind go blissfully blank. In a matter of seconds he was beginning to fall asleep.

“Clint?”

He froze, not willing to move even the muscles required to open his eyes. It was far too soon for that voice to be back in that office. Clint hadn’t allowed himself to check directly on Phil’s progress, but he still overheard the gossip, as much as he tried not to. There was no way that Fury would have cleared Coulson for work yet. Not for another few weeks. Meaning that this spot was supposed to be safe for a little while longer.

Yet there was that voice, calling out to him. Filled with heartbreak and concern. “Clint, please. Can you hear me? Are you in there? Will you please come out?” It wasn’t the way that Phil’s voice broke on Clint’s name that tore at Clint’s heart, it was the hope in that final question. Phil still wanted him. After everything else, after months of Clint doing his absolute best to pretend that Phil did not and never had existed, Phil still wanted him.

Clint scrambled away through the vents as quickly as he could manage while staying perfectly silent. He dragged the blanket behind him. He pulled it along through what seemed like an endless maze of silver walls. It didn’t matter what direction he was headed, as long as it was away from that voice.

Only a pathetically short amount of time later, Clint could feel the fight going out of his body. The panic had subsided, leaving him feeling even more exhausted than before. He scurried over to the nearest grate and peered down. Below was an office. Plain walls with no windows and stacks of paper scattered around the room. Several towering file cabinets filled an entire wall with an overgrown vine spilling across their tops from a tiny leopard print pot. Clint could just make out the words etched onto the nameplate sitting in one of the few empty spots on the desk. It was a random woman he had never heard of who worked in some accounting department or another.

This was as good of place as any to make his new nest. He squashed his blanket up against the side wall, lying down next to it but not wrapping himself up inside it like usual. The space was too small for him to be able to maneuver like that, so this would have to do. He shifted so that there was at least some blanket spread out for a pillow and promptly fell asleep.

~~~

Again Clint settled into a new normal. Adjusting to a new way of life was something he’d mastered at the age of 6 and it wasn’t as hard now as it probably should have been. Deep down he knew to never get too attached to anyone or anything because they could be taken away at any moment. He supposed that’s what had held him back from actually showing Phil the gold ring he had bought for him or asking the question that went along with it. And why the ring now sat at the bottom of the Hudson River where no one would ever know about it.

At least this time his new life still allowed him to do what he loved and what he was good at. He and Sitwell were working surprisingly well together. Fury began sending them on more solo missions; with Clint behind the scope of a rifle and Jasper in his ear telling him when to take the shot. There was no easy banter, but once Clint found the right subject there was no getting Jasper to shut up. The trick was finding subjects that Clint actually cared about. Their fallback topic had become the new technology and flight controls on the quinjets. Clint had known that Sitwell was a decent pilot but apparently the man was also a bit of an enthusiast when it came to all things planes.

It was just one of the many things Clint learned about Sitwell over the course of the next couple of months that they worked together. Along with the fact that Jasper had scored top of his class at the Academy and had specialized in airborne drops. The latter fact led to the two of them arguing for three days over which was more dangerous, base jumping or jumping from an airplane. The discussion had ended as they watched their mark leap from the top of a three story building and land wrong on the ground below, ending their chances at getting an interrogation.

“I’m telling you that it still doesn’t count.” Clint threw his feet up on the conference table. Jasper, sitting next to him, sighed and swatted his feet down.

“He jumped from a building. He died. It counts.”

The rest of the people in the conference room were studiously ignoring their bickering. Apparently the target that they had seen take a swan dive had been more than just a lackey in the terrorist organization of the week. Now that he was dead, Fury had called in a larger team to try and get a handle on taking down the organization before they managed to do anything serious. Sitwell had given up on trying to explain it all to Clint after thirty seconds of Clint making repeated snoring sounds.

Clint put his feet back up on the table. “I don’t care if you think it counts or not. Because we both know that I’m right. Base jumping is way less dangerous than jumping from a plane. That guy was just a complete idiot. His form was horrible. I mean, he dove head fucking first with no spin.”

“Even if we take him out of the equation,” Sitwell swatted at Clint’s feet but he locked up his legs, keeping them on the table. Sitwell rolled his eyes, “base jumping has a much higher injury rate. At least when you jump from a plane -”

Sitwell cut off mid-sentence as the conference room door swung open and Fury strode into the room, trademark scowl in place. Clint merely glanced at him, smug in the fact that he’d manage to convince Sitwell one way or another after the meeting. Fury glanced at Clint, eyes darting towards where his boots were planted on the table. Clint smiled and made a show of settling himself more comfortably in his seat.

His feet fell off the table with a loud thud a second later as his legs went numb with the shock of Coulson following Fury into the room. Sitwell gave Clint a knowing look as he stiffened in his chair. He raised an eyebrow at Clint, concern on his face. Clint shook his head at him. He could handle this. It was inevitable that Clint would have to interact with Coulson at some point. They were both too high up in Shield to not be working on the same ops occasionally. He needed to be able to handle this.

The meeting kept dragging on. Clint sat straight-backed and silent in his chair the entire time. His eyes never strayed from the packet of information on the table in front of him. Even as he spotted a flaw in the plan he kept his mouth shut. Surely some would else would notice and mention it. Surely he’d be able to sit here not looking at Coulson and make it out without being forced to speak to him, even indirectly.

Yet no one did notice it and finally Clint couldn’t restrain himself any longer. “This whole stretch here,” Clint leaned forward to point out a spot on the map spread out on the table, “is exposed if there is anyone on the third floor balcony of this building.” He pointed to another point across the street from the first.

The room went silent for half a beat before Fury ground out, “Son of a bitch.” He slapped a hand down on the table. “All right then. Anyone got any quick fix ideas for this?” He glared around the room. A few people shifted uncomfortably under his gaze but they all stayed silent. “Barton?”

Clint shook his head. “Would have mentioned one if I saw one, sir.”

Fury barely blinked at the formality, moving on. “Right then. Since this makes the entire plan damn near unusable, I think we should give this back to the analysts to pour over until they can do their jobs right and not create a plan that will get us all killed.”

With that, Fury stood up and swept out of the room, coat-tails swirling dramatically behind him. The rest of the room slowly started to pack up their things and leave. Clint tried not to notice Coulson gathering up the maps and files, instead keeping his eyes firmly locked on Sitwell. To Sitwell’s unending credit, he positioned himself exactly in Clint’s sight line until they were out into the hall.

They were only halfway down the hall, walking in awkward silence, when Clint’s silent prayers for an easy escape were dashed.

“Sitwell!” Coulson called out, striding up behind them. Sitwell turned but Clint just lowered his eyes. He wanted to keep walking; to get away. He could see Coulson’s shoes out of the corner of his eye and it was ridiculous how something so innocent could make him want to scream in frustration. “Fury wants you to meet with the analysts.” Coulson continued. “You’re currently the one with the most information on how this organization operates and we could use that field experience.”

Sitwell nodded. Before he could turn back to Clint and make things awkward, Clint spoke up. “Is there anything you need me for, sir? Or am I free to go.”

“No-”

“No.”

Both Sitwell and Coulson spoke at the same moment. Clint had to clench his jaw to stop himself from reacting to Coulson speaking to him directly. It was the very thing he’d been trying to avoid by asking Sitwell for a dismissal.

“You’re fine, Barton.” Sitwell broke the momentary awkwardness. “Go do whatever it is you do when you disappear.”

Clint nodded and all but fled, trying and failing to keep his footsteps even when he heard Sitwell apologizing to Coulson for the confusion. His heart nearly stopped with Coulson’s response. “No, it’s a good thing that he’s calling you sir. It means he’s accepted you.” It didn’t take Clint’s years of working with Phil to hear the unsaid ‘It means you’ve replaced me’.

~~~~

After that, Clint began spending even more time in his nest than normal. He couldn’t risk wandering the halls now that there was a chance he could stumble across Coulson. It didn’t stop him from being forced to see him in regards to missions, but at least then Clint could rely on the fact that those interactions had a set standard to them. Since Coulson was no longer Clint’s handler, he didn’t have any true authority over him and was never the one giving Clint his orders in the field. Meaning that Clint never had to speak to him unless it was vital, and that Coulson likewise never spoke to him. Even if they did have to mention something, they were both cautious to make it a general announcement rather than to the other person directly.

It worked, in a strange, convoluted sort of way. And Clint would have been happy to silently accept the new dynamic - as much as it hurt him to see Coulson so often without being able to explain the truth to him - but some of the other agents had apparently decided that Clint’s business was now their own.

“So, I heard that Coulson dumped your ass because you nearly got him killed.”

Clint should have been commended for not shooting the man in the eye. His grip tightened on the bow in his hands though, and he had to take a deep breath before letting loose the arrow and hitting the bullseye on the target at the end of the range. He spun to face the other agent, who was leaning against the back wall, a lackey sneering on either side of him.

“Excuse you?” Clint threw all of the menace Nat had taught him into the words. He smirked as he watched the two lackeys’ eyes widen slightly.

Their leader simply laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’d heard rumors that you had hearing issues.” He mocked sympathy. “Do you want me to sign it out for you? Or perhaps make you a drawing? Maybe a battle plan against Coulson’s office would work best for you?”

Clint was seeing red. It was bad enough that this bastard was willing to bring up the shit involving Loki’s attack, but Clint’s hearing problems were highly classified and way too personal for him to know about. “What exactly are you expecting to happen right now?” He set the bow down and turned to better face the other agent, one eyebrow raised. “Are you trying to prove your manliness by searching out a fight? Because I’ll gladly whoop your ass and send you on your way, if that’s what you need.”

One of the lackeys snickered, covering it up with a cough at a look from his leader. The other lackey whispered to the other two behind his hand, probably thinking that Clint couldn’t hear. “Remind me again why we thought this was a good idea. Because right now I’m having doubts. You know what happened to Wilson after he messed with Hawkeye. And that was before Loki had a chance to screw with his brain.”

The leader waved him off and stepped towards Clint. “I’m just here for answers. I’m not going to put myself in the field with two people in the middle of a lover’s quarrel. If people are going to have to rely on you and Coulson being able to work together in the field without getting everyone killed, then I think we deserve to know the truth.”

“You deserve a lot of things, none of them are the truth.” Clint snapped. “Now fuck off and get your fill of gossip somewhere else before I let Black Widow know you pulled a stunt like this.” He grabbed his bow and headed from the room. He paused at the door just long enough to shout back to the leader, “And unlike with me, the rumors you hear about Natasha don’t actually give enough credit to her creativity when it comes to revenge.”

~~~

Following the encounter there were even more hushed whispers following Clint through the halls, but no one dared to approach him about it. Not a soul questioned his and Phil’s tenuous working relationship nor mentioned it if their refusal to communicate directly ever caused any sort of difficulties for the other agents. Which Clint was very careful that it never did. He knew how much stock Coulson put in remaining the consummate professional. Not to mention, the only reason he was sticking around and putting up with all of this in the first place was to try and keep his position in Shield. Letting personal relationships interfere with that wasn’t on the to-do list.

~~~

A few months later, Clint was dozing in his nest. The spot was working out well, for being chosen at random. The woman was quiet, keeping to herself most of the time and typing away on her computer. It was a comforting and familiar sound. When he closed his eyes and buried his face into Phil’s old blanket he could almost pretend like it was a year ago. Like none of Loki or New York had ever happened. Like Phil hadn’t died and like Clint hadn’t quite fallen apart at the news as much as he’d expected to. Like the guilt of that composure wasn’t still slowly eating away at him every time he heard Coulson’s name or saw his face across the cafeteria. Like maybe there was even the slightest possibility that Clint still deserved him.

Right now though, he wasn’t thinking of any of that. He was drifting off, mind carefully blank. The sound of the clacking keyboard was lulling him to sleep when the door to the office below slammed open and another agent entered. Clint recognized her voice. She was the woman’s best friend and showed up randomly every couple of days. Personally, Clint thought she was a bit annoying, but that could just be her obsession with all things Kardashian.

Clint ignored their chatting, letting it become a buzz of noise in the background. Up until he heard a familiar name.

“Did you hear the latest gossip about Coulson?” The friend asked, excitement bleeding into her tone. Clint’s eyes snapped open, body on-edge and paying full attention. “Missy caught Coulson and Rivers kissing outside the lower supply rooms.”

Clint nearly squawked in his shock. He didn’t take the time to try and stay silent as he got as far away from that conversation as he possibly could; clambering through the vents in a mad panic. Without realizing it, he found himself in his old spot just outside Coulson’s office. He could hear the faint click of Coulson typing and smell the coffee that he always added too much sugar to and the last straw holding Clint together seemed to snap. He collapsed, no longer aware of or carrying about if he was crying or making noise or anything else.

It was pitch black when he woke up who knows how much later. He was still in the air vents, still surrounded by plain silver walls that had grown dingy and dusty except for the one new streak where he’d worn it clean. There was no sound from any of the offices below. The emptiness felt welcoming. He curled himself up inside of it. His mind blank of anything beyond the agonizing truth that Clint had achieved what he’d set out to do; Coulson had moved on.

He wasn’t sure when exactly he fell back to sleep.

The next time he awoke it was to the sound of his stomach growling. He could see the lights on in some of the nearby offices, meaning it was the next day. The hunger felt nice;like it was emptying him of everything he no longer wanted to be. So he rolled over and let the darkness consume him once more.

The lights were still on when he woke up but there were fewer of them. It could have been the same day, maybe the next, he didn’t care. All that mattered was that for the first time in over a year he felt fully at ease. He could stay here forever and not move and not think and be perfectly happy to let these metal walls become his tomb.

‘Clint?’ The voice was soft in the darkness around him. It was coming from the only source of light a ways off. He knew whose office it was and who the voice belonged to. Part of him wanted to flee again, to take off further into the bowels of the air ducts, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. There was no fight left in him. So he closed his eyes and tried not to hear the voice continuing to call out to him. It was too late.

~~~

He knew before he opened his eyes that things were different around him. He was no longer lying on cold metal but on a stiff and lumpy mattress, surrounded by the tang of antiseptic and the annoying whirs and beeps of medical machines. His wrists were heavy with the weight of leather cuffs securing him. It was jarring after the peace of the air vents.

He wasn't sure how he got here and he didn’t care. The first chance he got he was going to climb back into the vents and this time he’d find somewhere where no one would find him until he was already gone. Because darkness and silence were the only things he wanted right now, and he was getting neither of them sitting in this damn hospital bed.

Opening his eyes was a mistake. Because he should have known he wouldn’t be alone. But he’d missed the sound of their breathing over the sound of the machines and the fact that he didn’t want them to be here. Yet there Nat was, sitting in a chair at the end of his bed and staring straight back at him. The anger in her eyes was enough to make him hope that maybe she’d just save him the trouble and kill him herself.

She must have known what he was thinking because slowly, ever so slowly, she shook her head before nodding towards the far corner of the room where Coulson was curled up into one of the hospital chairs, his head tipped back against the wall behind him, fast asleep.

“He’s spent too much time in Medical this year.” It was the only thing Nat said before she walked over, smacked him on the head and strode from the room.

Clint didn’t look over at Phil, instead choosing to close his eyes and try to will himself back to sleep. His whole body felt heavy and slow; like sleep should have been a few moments away but he was still awake when he heard Coulson’s breathing shorten, signaling he’d woken up. Clint kept his eyes shut, focusing on deepening his own breaths to mimic sleep. Coulson wouldn’t be fooled, but he’d know that Clint wasn’t wanting to talk to him. It was the best chance Clint had of getting out of the room without saying something he’d regret.

Only Coulson didn’t leave. Instead, Clint heard footsteps as Coulson drew closer. He focused on keeping his breaths even, but the increased beeping of his heart monitor gave him away.

“Clint? Please, just… just talk to me.” Coulson’s voice broke and it took everything Clint had left in him to keep from crying out and reaching for the man who he knew was within arm’s reach. “I just want to understand why. I don’t… I… It’s like I went to sleep one night and woke up the next morning and all of the sudden you’d fallen out of love with me. Which I’ll understand. I’ve been trying to deal with it and move on. But I just need you to tell me what you want.”

Clint ground his teeth together, no longer caring about keeping up the charade of sleeping. He was trying so hard, _had_ been trying so hard for so long. He had given up so much to try and make things right. It just wasn’t fair anymore. So he decided that maybe he wasn’t gonna fight fair in this discussion either. “Don’t you have somewhere else you should be?” He forced out.

Coulson let out a sigh that Clint couldn’t quite identify the emotion of. It was long and soft and made Clint’s heart ache. “There’s nothing more important than this.”

Clint laughed once; the only way to keep himself from falling for the sincerity behind the words. “I meant, won’t Rivers be wondering where you are?”

Silence met his words. A stunning and complete silence that went on for so long that Clint was finally forced to open his eyes. Coulson had collapsed into Natasha’s chair at the foot of the bed, his face open and wounded. He was staring straight back into Clint’s eyes with tear streaks along his cheeks. It made Clint want to snap his eyes back shut and stay silent and never speak or move again because he hated seeing Phil hurting like this.

“Is that why you did this?” Phil asked finally, his voice barely audible. When it became obvious that Coulson was going to wait for him to respond he shrugged half-heartedly. “Because I don’t know what the gossip is, or why you would ever listen to it. But there is nothing going on between Agent Rivers and myself. I was helping him look for a specific item within the supply cupboards and in his gratitude he kissed me. It was a momentary thing. He has a girlfriend, nor am I interested in him in any way. There has only been one person I have wanted in that way in the last decade, and I’ve spent the better part of a year wondering why he’s been doing his best to pretend I don’t exist.”

Phil’s words spun around in Clint’s head. He wanted to believe them, to believe that Phil still wanted him as much as Clint wanted Phil. But he couldn’t let himself; couldn’t pretend that everything was magically fixed. Not when Phil still didn’t know the truth. Though that final straw, the one that had snapped when he’d heard River’s name, had been taped back together. It was with cheap dollar store tape that hardly ever worked and bunched over on itself more often than not, but the two pieces were stuck back together and that was enough to keep Clint fighting.

“You shouldn’t care.” Clint whispered, not sure if he’d even spoken the words out loud.

“Why?” Phil’s voice was just as soft but Clint could hear the anger. “Why should I not care when the love of my life has suddenly decided that a slow death in the air vents is the best course of action?”

Clint fought back tears, letting his eyes slip shut again. A year of trying his damndest to avoid having this exact conversation and now he was strapped down to this stupid bed and couldn’t run anymore. “Because it didn’t hurt enough.”

Coulson exploded. “It didn’t hurt enough?! What, would you have rather had a painful death? Fire or torture or drowning? Is that what you wanted?”

“That’s not what I meant.” And god, Clint wanted to curl up into a ball until this all went away.

“Then what did you mean? That it didn’t hurt me enough? That you dying so close to my office wouldn’t break my heart into so many pieces that it…” Coulson’s voice cracked on his tears. “that it would be impossible to ever put myself back together again. Is that it? That you needed to hurt me how I hurt you?”

“God no. Never… not… “ Clint couldn’t find the words to make this conversation end without it ruining things even more.

“Then what is it Clint? What did you mean by it didn’t hurt enough? What didn’t hurt?”

“Your death.” And there it was; the truth that Clint had been running from ever since he’d discovered that Coulson had survived. “I always thought it would destroy me. That I’d feel like what you said. That I’d be emptied and shattered and never able to breathe again. But they told me you had died, and it hurt, dear fucking lord did it hurt. But I could still breathe. I could breathe and think and even laugh. Damn it, Phil, I could fucking laugh. You’d only been dead for a couple days and I could laugh.”

Clint tried to bury his head into his hands, but was stopped by the restraints. He screamed in frustration, dropping back against the bed and staring straight up at the ceiling as tears streamed down the sides of his face. The memory was still too fresh in his mind from the number of times his guilt had gone back to it. Sitting there in the Tower and laughing in a moment of full-out joy just two days after Nat had told him that Phil was dead. “It’s not fair to you. You deserve someone who cares more than that.”

Phil didn't so much as blink at the confession. “Do you love me, Clint?”

“That’s not the poi-”

“Yes or no. Do you love me?” Phil’s voice was slow and calming and it reminded Clint of every shit-storm and nightmare and op gone wrong that Coulson had talked him through.

“Phil, that doesn’t - “

“Yes or no.”

“Yes, of course I fucking love you.”

Phil sighed softly and Clint could hear the relief in it. “Good. Because I love you too. And that’s all that matters.”

“How can you say that after what  just told you?”

“Because I always knew you were stronger than me. My last thought - after Loki, when I was dying - my last thought was to reassure myself that you’d be okay. That you had Natasha to lean on and had already been through so much and had always came back stronger. So it didn’t matter that I was going first. Fuck, I was glad I was going first, because I knew that if either of us could handle losing the other, it’d be you.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Clint croaked. “It’s good that apparently I don’t need you in my life like I thought I did? That I can laugh two days after being told the man I was hoping to marry was dead? How is that a positive thing? Because from where I’m sitting, it feels like shit.”

“Clint.” Phil leaned forward, stretching out a hand to lay it reassuringly on Clint’s foot, the only part of him within reach. Clint screwed his eyes shut, wishing the touch didn’t feel like ice and fire and everything he’d been needing for this last year. It was the first time Phil and he had touched since before the Battle of New York. It felt overwhelming and Clint could feel himself shaking from the force of his desires to both run and beg for more.

“Please don’t touch.” Clint choked out.

“I’m sorry.” Phil sounded wounded and quickly pulled his hand away. Clint couldn’t stop the whimper that came out at the loss of contact. He couldn’t handle it; being this close to Phil after so long carefully keeping his distance. And now Phil knew. Clint’s horrid secret was out and Phil claimed that he didn’t care. But Clint knew it would matter eventually. Things would have been fine if it all had just stuck to his plan. Only here Phil was, fucking it all up.

Clint’s chest started heaving, the heart rate monitor beeping faster and faster as he fought off a panic attack.

“Breathe, Clint. I need you to breathe.”

Phil’s words didn’t work. Clint broke down into sobs and pulled against the restraints around his wrists. He could feel the leather digging into his skin and he pulled harder. The pain felt freeing, a light in the tunnel of panic trying to swallow him whole. He was aware of shouting around him; hands pressing down on his thrashing limbs; pain spearing through his chest; the slow cold feeling of drugs being pumped through the IV in his arm. All of it distant background noise to the chaos that was overwhelming his mind. Until everything went blissfully, thankfully black.

~~~~

Clint woke up slowly, dragging himself out of the familiar haze of a drug induced sleep. He blinked open his eyes, grateful for the darkness of the room. For the second time in a row, he opened his eyes to find Natasha at the foot of his hospital bed staring back at him. Though this time was with a lot less anger than previously.

“Hey.” his throat felt raw and jagged, as if he’d been screaming recently. It took him a second to realize that he probably had. That half of the screaming he distantly remembered from during his panic attack had probably been his own.

“Are you okay?” Nat’s voice was soft. Too soft. Too frail and gentle, as if she was scared it could break him.

Clint moved to rub at his eyes, noticing happily that the restraints had been removed. Instead his wrists were wrapped with white bandages stained with rings of dried blood. He must have pulled hard enough at the restraints to break through the skin. He let his hands drop back to the bed, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “I’m fine, Nat. Just a little drained.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Drained? The dehydration and malnutrition resulted in your heart nearly exploding during your panic attack. It stopped beating for a few seconds and they had to use the paddles to restart it. I should think you’d feel a little more than drained.”

Clint rubbed at his chest. Now that she had pointed it out he recognized the dull ache on his chest through the painkillers from where the paddles had been. It wasn’t the first time they’d had to jump start his heart and it probably wouldn’t be the last. He told Natasha as much and she rolled her eyes before leaning forward to rest her arms on the foot of his bed. Her face sobered and Clint stiffened in preparation for whatever was coming next.

“I need to ask you something and I need you to promise to not freak out.”

Clint swallowed hard. “It’s gonna be about Phil, isn’t it?”

She nodded once.

“I -” He struggled to try and keep his breathing even and under control. Nat’s eyes furrowed at the small jump of his heart rate monitor. “For you, Nat. You deserve as much after putting up with me for as long as you have.”

She smiled slightly at that. “You’re damn right I do. So does Coulson. We’ve been through a lot together, us three. He knows the way you and I work, and I know the way the you and him work. Which is why I just needed to ask you; I was there when you laughed. Stark told a joke, it was funny, you chuckled. Did you see me get angry at you? Did I yell or scream or say that you weren’t honoring Coulson’s memory enough?

“I did not judge you for it.” she said the words slowly and deliberately. “The opposite, I was happy that maybe it wouldn’t be as hard on you as I was expecting it to be. When we found out that Coulson was really alive, I didn’t think about the fact that you had laughed a couple of times earlier that very same day. All I thought about was how happy you would be to have him back. I didn’t, and still do not, care an ounce that you had any sort of momentary happiness while our best friend was dead. And if anyone did have a right to hate you for that, it’s me.

“So, if I don’t hate you for it, why in the world would you think that Coulson would?”

Clint wiped away the tears that had started to form during her speech. “That’s not the point of this, Nat. It’s that he deserves someone who will miss him more than I did. Someone who will be completely destroyed by losing him.”

“And this, here, sitting before me? This shattered, messy, shadow of yourself? This isn’t you being completely destroyed because he isn’t in your life?”

“It’s different. This is because he’s alive.”

“Which makes it the same.” He rolled his eyes as she stood up and moved so that she was sitting next to him on the bed. “You nearly killed yourself, Clint. Out of grief and pain and guilt. Because when he came back you realized that you’d have to face him again. And you weren’t ready for that. Losing him might not have hurt as badly as you expected, but how did it feel when you heard he was asking about you? Or when you passed by him in the hallways? Or when you heard that Rivers kissed him? You keep saying you didn’t hurt enough, but the man I’m looking at has been hurt more than I could have ever imagined.”

She leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. Whispering in Russian, “перестань себе вредить” She straightened and headed for the door, pausing long enough to throw him his phone. “He won’t come unless you ask him to.” And then she was gone. Leaving Clint to ponder over everything she had said.

So much of it was true. In that strange way that you don’t even realize it’s truth until someone forces you to see it. But the phrase circling inside his head was her plea to him in Russian. ‘Please stop hurting yourself.’ He hadn’t thought about it like that before; that he was making things worse to try and make up for not hurting enough initially. And look where it had gotten him; in a hospital on the good drugs and with a heart that was barely beating. Maybe Nat was right though. Maybe he had hurt enough now.

He flipped the phone over in his hand, rubbing a thumb along the button that would call Phil. But something kept him from doing it. This was only Natasha’s opinion after all. For all he knew Phil’s would be completely different. I mean, sure, he’d said he didn’t care about Clint laughing. But that was right in the emotion of the moment. Now that he’d had time to think about it, maybe Phil had decided he wanted someone who would care more after all.

Clint flipped the phone shut. Not now. Not yet.

~~~

The phone sat on Clint’s bedside table as a constant reminder of all of his mistakes and the damage he had done. As much as Natasha’s words seemed to make more and more sense, he still felt the guilt of everything. It didn’t make sense for him to go back to Phil now. Not just because of all of the ways he felt inferior, but because of this last year of torment he had put Phil through.

For three days he stared at the phone. Occasionally reaching out a hand, almost deciding to call him. Whenever his fingers touched the screen it felt like his heart was trying to stop all over again and he would end up needing hours to make his breathing even back out.

Natasha came to visit him every day. She usually simply sat with him and watched crap daytime tv. They laughed at how many soap operas now included superheros and aliens in their ridiculous plots. Especially the ones that made no attempts to hide how closely a superhero was mirrored on one of the Avengers. There were far too many blonde, muscular, all-American men countered against billionaire, playboy, philanthropists.

The experience of watching the superhero soap operas was made all the more enjoyable when Steve and Bruce showed up halfway through the second day. Clint had especially loved the moment when the pseudo-Captain America had had a romance scene and Steve had turned bright red.

Between the tv shows the four of them had chatted. They spent hours telling Clint about the two times that the Avengers had been called into action since he had left. About the giant creatures they’d slayed and the crazy scientist they’d taken out. Clint silently appreciated that they dropped subtle hints as to where things would have gone better if he had been there.

“I think I’m gonna come back.” Clint said randomly during a commercial break the third evening. It was just him and Natasha again. She smiled at him from where she’d pulled a chair up alongside his bed. “I want to be an Avenger again.”

“Are you sure? You’ve invested quite a lot in setting yourself up as a solo field agent. Going back to a team is going to be difficult. Especially a team like the Avengers.”

He swallowed. “I’m sure. It will be worth it, to get to go out and fight with friends again. Not that Sitwell hasn’t been fantastic this last year, but he isn’t you. And god help me, but I missed Steve and Bruce too. Even Thor, the little that we saw him.”

“Not Tony?” Nat asked cautiously.

He shook his head. “It’s hard to miss someone whose last words to me were to call me a selfish asshole.”

“To Stark’s credit, he didn’t know about how you felt. He was simply going off of the fact that Shield has you listed as Coulson’s medical proxy yet you never once went to visit him in the hospital. You can’t blame him too much for jumping to some conclusions when he didn’t have all of the pieces.”

“The whole point though was for them to hopefully never have all of the pieces.” He hesitated, glancing at Nat out of the corner of his eye. “They don’t have _all_ of the pieces, do they?”

She shook her head. “They figured out a lot of it on their own a while back, but no, they don’t know everything. And for the record, not a one of them has mentioned that you seemed ‘too happy’ while we thought Coulson was dead.”

Clint swallowed and nodded. He fell silent as the show resumed, losing himself in the mindless reality programing. Every few minutes his eyes would drift over to the side table and his phone.

“You know, he’s watching his own phone even more diligently than you.” Nat whispered without her eyes leaving the tv. “I don’t know what he’s obsessing over more, that you still haven’t called or that you let slip that you’d wanted to marry him.”

“Fuck.” Clint dropped his head back against his pillow. “I did?”

“Mhmm.”

He groaned. “What the hell am I supposed to do, Nat?”

She turned in her chair. “Honest answer?”

“Always.”

“You try and make things right. I think this last year has proven that you two can’t live happily pretending that there was never anything between you. You don’t have to want a relationship again, but you do have to find a way to give yourself some peace. Unfortunately for you, the only way that is going to happen is if you talk to him.”

Clint reached hesitantly towards his phone, fingers stopping a good foot away. “And what if I’m still not ready for that?”

“Then you aren’t ready yet.” She shrugged. “I didn’t say you had to talk to him right this second. Just that you need to stop hiding.” Standing up, she gathered up her things. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t do anything stupid before I get back.” She kissed him on the forehead as she left..

As the door swung shut behind her Clint grabbed his phone off of the table. Before he could give himself time to think about it, he sent a text to Phil.  ** _We should talk._  **He hit send and instantly felt the regret and panic boiling up. He threw the phone towards the foot of the bed, curling himself up into a ball and staring at it, waiting for whatever would happen next.

Less than a minute later it buzzed with a response. He waited, calming himself down and trying to push back the million and one ideas of what horrible responses Phil could send him. When he thought that maybe his heart would explode from not knowing, Clint snagged the phone and opened the message.

  ** _In person, or would you prefer like this?_**

Clint’s hands shook as he typed out the response, making him take twice as long.  _ **In person would probably be best.**_

It was only a few seconds this time before a response came.  _ **When?**_

_**Tomorrow.** _

He started to panic again when it hit the two minute mark with no response. Maybe Phil wouldn’t respond. Maybe he’d changed his mind and didn’t want to see Clint after all. Maybe after maybe flicked through his mind in rapid fire. All of it dissipating when a text came through.

**_I have a meeting in the morning with Fury until noon. I can reschedule if you’d like. Otherwise, how about one o’clock?_ **

_**One works.**_ Clint texted back then dropped his phone on the side table. So far he wasn’t sure that Nat had been right. Trying to talk to Phil was doing the exact opposite of giving him peace. But no matter what, after tomorrow, at least things would finally be settled.

~~~

A soft knock on the door woke Clint from the tossing and turning that was his night’s sleep. He had a moment of panic and glanced at a clock, breathing a sigh of relief when it showed that it was still early in the morning. He rubbed his eyes, blinking back the lingering image of faces floating in crimson.

“Come on in, Nat.” He called out. However, when the door opened it was Stark stepping cautiously into the room. Clint glared at him, about to snap at him and tell him to leave when he remembered his decision the evening before. If he wanted back on the Avengers he would have to work with _all_ of them. And that meant he had to play nice with Stark.

Clint sighed and gestured for Stark to sit in Nat’s usual chair by his bed. Stark smiled slightly as he took the seat, seeming to expand outward to take up the whole room as he relaxed, now that he knew Clint wouldn’t attack him. “Hey there, Lego. Long time no see.” A hint of Stark’s patented smirk flashed across his face, but Clint didn’t think there was the usual humor in it.

“What are you here for, Stark?” Clint asked, crossing his arms.

“Just checking up on my teammate.”

Clint frowned. “There’s no way Nat told you that. So how the hell did you know I was coming back?”

Stark shrugged. “Fury was stupid enough to allow me access to Medical’s surveillance while Coulson was in here. It’s not my fault if he doesn’t know how to flush me out of the system.”

“You’ve been spying on me?” Clint shuddered at the thought of someone watching him struggling over the last few days. He felt the need to twitch and move, as if he could feel Jarvis’ eyes staring at him now that he knew they were there.

“Don’t flatter yourself, you aren’t nearly interesting enough for that. I checked on you after Bruce said you seemed off. Mind you, you’ve always been a little off. I was intrigued as to what made you even weirder than normal.”

Clint was trying very hard not to punch him. Stark was sitting so close to the bed that he wouldn’t even have to stretch very far. Instead he ground out, “Are you here to keep insulting me? Is that your twisted way of apologizing for acting like a dick.”

Stark sat up abruptly. “Woah there. If I’ve been a dick than that makes you an ultra-mega-dick.” He pointed a finger accusingly at Clint. “You left Coulson to deal with near-death and physical therapy and wrangling the rest of us all on his own. You were the dick who decided he didn’t even deserve an explanation. No one gets to fuck with Agent like that.”

“You think I don’t realize how terrible of a person I am?” Clint spat back. “You think I don’t get that? Because I do. I’m a dick, yes. Which I why I was trying to stay away from Phil. Because I’m shit and he’s not. He deserves someone who isn’t as fucked up as me.”

Stark leaned back, crossing his arms and shrugging one shoulder. “I don’t care.”

Clint stared at Stark, unable to process what he’d just said. “Huh?”

“I. Don’t. Care. It doesn’t matter one iota that you don’t think you’re good enough for Agent. Do you think people get what they deserve in life? Do you think I’m good enough for Pepper ‘I’ll walk over your grave in my Armani pumps” Potts? Or that I deserve to be considered a god-damn superhero?

“I drank away most of my life. I’m responsible for thousands of deaths. I destroyed people’s livelihoods on accident on a weekly basis by simply not paying attention to where my money went. I’ve slept with half the eastern seaboard. I have done more shit in my lifetime than should be physically possible, and you know what? I still wake up every morning with an amazing woman lying next to me.

“As long as she still wants me, I’m going to cling on and enjoy every second of it. Because if I sit there and try and find a single thing I’ve ever done that makes me good enough for her, I would waste my whole life coming up empty.”

Stark’s rant ended and they both were silent for a few minutes. Clint knew Stark had issues, but Stark was Stark. Everyone expected him to make a snarky comment and move on from his latest misdeed without a second thought. Instead, it turned out that maybe he understood exactly how much those wrongs seemed to linger and nag at the mind, reminding you of why you should never be happy. “You keep talking like that and people are liable to start thinking that you actually have a conscience.” Clint smirked.

Stark feigned insult. “They would never!” But then he smiled; a soft, warm smile that Clint had never seen on him before. “Look, just, we’re all a little fucked up. That’s why The Avengers works. It’ll be nice to have you back.”

He stood up just as the door opened and Natasha walked in. Her easy smile - the one reserved for Clint alone - vanished the second she saw Stark. It was replaced by a grimace that only barely softened as she glanced back and forth between them. “Glad to see that I won’t have to break up any fights between you two while we’re in the field.”

“Good morning to you too, Natasha.” Stark quipped as she pushed past him, taking her normal seat. She shot a glare at him and he snapped his jaw shut. “Someone hasn’t had their morning coffee.” He grumbled.

“See you later.” Clint called out as Stark hastily retreated from the room.

Natasha smacked him on the arm. “I thought I said don’t do anything stupid.”

He held his arm, only half pretending that her smack had hurt. “How is making up with Stark stupid?”

“Because the last thing the world needs is for you two to figure out that you’d be good as friends.” She smiled as Clint laughed.

~~~

Nat stayed with him right up until Coulson knocked on the door at one o’clock sharp. By that point Clint felt as if he were about to burst out of his skin. He wanted this conversation to just be over and done with. But at the same time he wanted to postpone it forever; just sit here in this room with Natasha and pretend that the rest of the world no longer existed. So seeing Phil step through the door, looking dapper and put together in his neatly pressed suit, was nearly enough to make Clint make a break for the air vents. What kept him rooted to the bed was the cautious hope he saw in the small smile on Phil’s face.

“Hello, Romanov.” Nat squeezed Phil’s arm as she stood up from her chair, leaving it vacant for him. “Barton.” He nodded at Clint who couldn’t do more than grunt in acknowledgement.

Nat gave Clint a quick peck on the cheek before leaving them alone. Suddenly, Clint knew that this wasn’t how he wanted this discussion to happen. They’d had one too many important conversations while one of them lay in a hospital bed. He stood up, ignoring Phil’s look of concern, and dragged one of the other extra chairs across the room until it was facing Phil’s. He sat down, explaining “We should be on level ground during this.”

Phil stiffened in his chair, sitting up straighter at Clint’s serious tone. “If that’s what you think is best.”

Clint blinked, taking a few seconds to realize that he’d forgotten to open his eyes back up. When he did he couldn’t bring himself to look Phil in the eye. He settled instead on looking at the man’s polished shoes. “I talked to Stark earlier.” Clint started. “He said some things that made me realize that - “ Clint hesitated. How could he possibly find the right words for this?

“Clint?” Phil prompted when he had been silent too long.

“I realized that I will never be the kind of person you deserve.” Phil started to protest and Clint held up a hand to silence him. “Let me finish. I’ll never feel like I am good enough for you, but that it’s wrong of me to discount your opinion in this. I love you, and if you say you love me too, I’m just going to have to trust that you mean it. This is my problem. It’s my brain that’s fucked up and I’m just going to have to learn how to shut those sort of thoughts out.”

“Wow.” Phil whispered.

Clint glanced up through his eyelashes to see Phil’s jaw hanging open. He hunched over further, curling his shoulders protectively. “Not that any of that means anything if you’ve changed your mind. I’m good working with Sitwell. I can stay out of your way if you’d prefer.”

Clint saw Phil’s hand reach towards him, stopping just before it touched his knee. “Clint, I will never stop being amazed by you.” Clint looked up at that. He could feel hope blooming in his chest even as he fought to quell it. “I’m not going to pretend that this last year wasn’t difficult. Or that I will be able to magically forget how much you hurt me.” The hope deflated from Clint’s chest even faster than it had built up, leaving a gaping hole behind. He dropped his gaze back to Phil’s shoes only to have Phil’s hand gently press under his chin, lifting it back up. “But I still love you, and if you are willing to try and give this another shot, then so am I.”

“Even after everything I put you through?” Clint’s voice trembled slightly. His hands were shaking.

“Yes.” Phil moved his hand down to grip Clint’s where it rested on the arm of the chair.

Clint shook his head even as he turned his hand to intertwine his fingers with Phil’s. “How though? Life isn’t a movie; true love doesn’t conquer all.”

Phil smiled at that. “I don’t expect it to.”

“So, how - “ Clint started but was silenced by Phil placing his other hand over his mouth.

“I’m not saying it will be easy. We’re going to fight and argue and I can guarantee you that there will be times when I will be bitter. It is going to be a constant battle for a while, until we make new memories to override the old. Quite simply, it’s going to be a lot of work. But I have never wanted anything more than I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you, no matter how much effort that entails.”

Clint stared into Phil’s eyes. They were unguarded and open, showing him just how much Phil meant every single word he had said. For the first time in over a year, Clint had hope that maybe things would work out alright. The doubts were still there, of course, shouting at him in the back of his mind. That this only proved all the more why Clint could never deserve Phil. That it was only a matter of time until the fights and pain proved too much and Phil picked up and left. But for now he was going to take Tony’s advice. If Phil said he loved him, then he would stay for as long as Phil would have him.

 


End file.
